I'm back on deck after my son's wedding last weekend. It was an outstanding event, with no bust-ups or brawls or cops or nothin’, eh?

Although there is footage of some gut-busting Jacko moves on the dance floor. And I missed another shot of some ‘delicate’ planking occurring on a knee-high bollard outside the venue. Don’t ask.

After the success of the momentous occasion I decided to celebrate on my return with a random taxi shift. This quick-smart jolted me back to reality.

At one point last night, whilst absently waiting on a red light, I reflected how Palmer Street, Darlinghurst is a long, long way from Palm Cove, Queensland. It's about 2,000 kilometres, in fact.

Also my speech worked out quite well, despite a dread of public speaking. For our only child it was a one-shot event so I put in some serious preparation. When the day arrived I was actually looking forward to it, without any need for hard liquor! But thanks, anyway, for readers advice on this perilous approach.

For most wedding guests it was a three or four day event with many taking the opportunity of an extended holiday. And why not? At 28 degrees and visitor numbers down, what’s not to like about Far North Queensland in the dry season.

However I also spent time with some friends in Mission Beach and was shocked at the devastation still clearly evident after Yasi, especially throughout once lush, dense rainforests. The cyclone showed no mercy, and many of those decimated now face a new battle - insurance assessors. God give them strength.

Currently I’m on holidays preparing for my son’s wedding this weekend in FNQ. Yes, he’s marrying a Queenslander but what can you do? Kids these days never listen, anyway. As I hone the father of the groom speech, this week has been one of reminiscing. Here’s an image from the vault of the young fella outside Erskineville Oval after a session of kicking practise.

When I was a nipper my father would take me there when he umpired in the Sydney Aussie Rules competition. And being a Victorian he would have copped plenty. As my brother remarked after last weekend’s Swan’s demolition of Port Adelaide: “Half the fun of going to the game is bagging the Victorian umps.”

Anyway, on Monday I’ll post an image of how we look now, somewhat older of course and dressed a little sharper. Also I’ve been trying to nail down the right proportion of drinks to settle the nerves ahead of the big speech. Boy, anticipating a live television appearance is a walk in the park compared to a wedding speech.

Figured I’d spend the spare hours after the ceremony with a couple of quiet gin and tonics. Thence once the function commences, one or two aperitifs would be in order followed by some beers and red wine with the meal. By then the anxiety levels should be well under control.

However I’m unsure whether a final settler would be advisable, say, some vodka Red Bull shots...or should I stick to water at this point? I’m happy to take suggestions regarding the shots.

Sometimes people reveal a lot more about themselves by what they omit rather than what they say. It's funny how much you can learn from what isn’t said.

Late on Saturday afternoon, an older gent approached the cab at a city rank, pushing a shopping trolley. He had a long grey beard and long stringy greasy hair. His several layers of clothes hadn’t seen a washing machine for a while either.

He opened the back door and put a 5 litre wine cask on the seat. He followed that up with a second cask, a smallish briefcase and his walking stick.

Then he climbed in the front beside me. In the process, his grubby, unbuttoned flanelette shirt fell open to show a black t-shirt underneath the flanno. Proudly emblazoned across his chest was the slogan: My brain chemistry is working perfectly.

After that it didn’t matter what he said. He’d already told me all I needed to know about him.

Oddly enough, I met his soul mate a few hours later. This chap hopped aboard at the Hyatt Hotel at around 8.30pm. His speech was somewhat slurred, and there was a noticeable smell of alcohol about him.

He asked me to take him to a laptop shop he knew about in the city. It was an area where I’ve never seen a computer shop, particularly not one that’s open late on a Saturday night.

My first thought was that he was going to a spot nearby. Then he said that he hoped the shop was open. Okay, I thought, then maybe he needs to get some sort of computer accessory.

If the shop wasn’t open (clearly it wouldn’t be!), where else might he get a mouse, a memory stick or something similiar? A supermarket? A garage? Let’s have some sort of helpful plan ready to offer him.

So I asked, “What do you need?” “I need to buy a computer,” he replied. “Somehow or other my laptop got dropped in the bath last night. It didn’t do it any good.”

“No,” I replied, “it never does.” And we completed the trip in silence.

Believe it or not I can still remember the moment of my birth. And if you don't mind me saying so, I arrived in perfect condition. My skin was wonderful and my organs fully developed and functioning well. I fancied myself as quite attractive, and exuded a delicious, unadulterated scent.

Oh, the love I received as everyone admired and nurtured me was overwhelming. I was regularly washed and fed, taken to the doctors for regular check-ups and treated rather well. And, as much as possible, I returned that love. The world was happy with me and I was happy with my life.

But as I grew older a big change came into my life. My family deserted me and put me up for adoption. I couldn't believe it. After all, ours was a great relationship, but the deal was done and soon I had new parents.

However my new family were not as kind as the last. To put it in a nutshell, they sent me out to work ! And not just little jobs like most of my contemporaries, but slave labour with long hours and very little rest.

As the years went by I grew older and wearier. My innards ached, my skin went rough from being out in the sun all of the time and the medical check-ups were brief and hurried. Not like the doctors in my first family, these were like butchers that rushed you in and out just to make money.

Yet, as always, there was an upside to ageing. I was proud to provide employment to some fellows. Two worked with me full time and I provided them with money to feed their families. Sadly though, I also had to take on part time staff, some good, some bad, though most of them were as rough as guts.

But let me tell you some of the things that I have seen in my life: sunrises and sunsets that were magical; incredible celebrations, wild parties, love, sex, happiness, sadness, madness, the whole gambit of human emotions. The people I have met in my life, and there were too many to count, all had different stories, came from all walks of life and were usually of good demeanour.

So even now at the end, I am thinking that my life was indeed a fortunate one. So many like me do nothing in their life and experience only five per cent of the things that I have seen. Also, it makes me proud to say that my life was a useful one.

Soon my time on this planet will be over but I hope to meet some backpackers who take me around Australia, I certainly would love to see this magnificent land. After which I would be happy to retire and go where many of my kind end up. Stripped of parts then crushed at Sims Metal.

One of the lovely things in driving a cab is the chance to hear little elements of someone's special story.

Yesterday's night shift started out very slowly. My first fare was a simple local job from a suburban rank to the next suburb.

The passenger was a heavily pregnant woman with a few items of shopping, so a short job was not a problem. I asked when her baby was due, and she told me that she was a couple of days over-due.

We went on to chat about Canberra's wonderful autumn weather and the beauty of the gold and russet leaves by the street as we headed for her destination.

As she made to leave I wished her and her baby well. She smiled at me and and said that this is her miracle baby. I only needed to tilt my head slightly and she told me a little more.

"My partner died seven months ago of cancer," she said. "We'd been trying for a baby for years. This really is my little miracle." And she turned and opened the door.

I watched her walk away, and suddenly there was a new perspective for me to take through the night. A slow start didn't matter any more. And the total on the meter at the end no longer seemed important either.

Sometimes being a cabbie is just about being there at the right time for the people who need you.